


the ball player and the beach girl

by youngerdrgrey



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/F, Post-S1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 23:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8821270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngerdrgrey/pseuds/youngerdrgrey
Summary: or, how Ginny winds up inviting a near stranger to her hospital room while all her friends and doctors aren’t even allowed to come in. The return of Cara the waitress helps make the thought of a different life a little more bearable
(spoilers for the season one finale, then it's just fun speculation)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just really want Cara to come back in season two, friends
> 
> \\\ this has mentions of canon romantic thoughts as well

 

_._

.

.

Ginny winds up bugging Amelia for Cara’s number. Amelia narrows her eyes while copying the contact, says that Ginny should be careful about how she spends her time and that they probably can’t afford another pool video any time soon. Ginny gives Amelia that wooden smile that always means to back off and thanks her for the number before tucking it away.

She eventually saves it under _Cara the Beach Girl_  and doesn’t message for weeks. Not until she’s lying in a hospital bed that she doesn’t even need to be in and counting up the seconds until another person tries to come into her room. Evelyn’s been hounding her, so Ev’s banished until Blip gets in from the press junket to balance her out a bit. Ginny loves Evelyn, really and truly, but she can’t answer any of Ev’s questions and the boys called her on both her phone and Ev’s phone, and what is she supposed to tell them? They’re the closest kids to her to get caught up in Ginnsanity, and she can’t deal with their faces just yet.

So Ginny uses the good arm she’s got left to send a message to one of the only other people in the world who doesn’t care about whether or not she can ever play again.

**From Ginny Baker to Cara the Beach Girl  
** // Hey, it’s Ginny. I got your number from Amelia. Wanted to say thanks for not sending that video out into the world, and for babysitting me, even if you’re the world’s worst babysitter for letting me drink and jump into that pool

She sends the message without spending too much time going over it. Either Cara responds or she doesn’t. It doesn’t matter. Honestly, not much does at this point. Some doctors are checking over her x-rays and holding out on giving her the information until more of the team can be here. That means Blip and Al mostly. Maybe Mike, but she doubts he’ll come. He’s not big on emotions, so being in a room with a hurt ball player coming off her first big injury? Probably sounds like torture.

_Buzz._

**From Cara the Beach Girl to Ginny Baker  
** // well well well, if it isn’t the talk of the town herself! + I’ll have you know that I’m an awesome babysitter. Did I or did I not get you to the stadium for your game?

Ginny grins.

**From Ginny Baker to Cara the Beach Girl  
** // You did  
// but you also took me to the beach in the middle of the night  
// and snuck me out! Practically kidnapped me!

**From Cara the Beach Girl to Ginny Baker  
** // Is that why you’re texting me? Need another good kidnapping?

Ginny stills. She could disappear again, but honestly the pain meds would wear off, and she’d be trapped and destined to mess herself up even more.

**From Ginny Baker to Cara the Beach Girl  
** // I don’t know what I need at this point  
// A drink maybe

**From Cara the Beach Girl to Ginny Baker  
** // Need me to sneak you one? I’ll put on my work clothes. They won’t give me a second look

**From Ginny Baker to Cara the Beach Girl  
** // I’m at the hospital

**From Cara the Beach Girl to Ginny Baker  
** // I figured. idk if you know this but you’re kind of a big deal

**From Ginny Baker to Cara the Beach Girl  
** // you don’t say

**From Cara the Beach Girl to Ginny Baker  
** // I do.  
// So do the trending topics on Twitter and the msgs from my friends asking if we still talk

Ginny laughs. She can imagine the messages. It doesn’t matter how calm people might pretend to be when they see her for the first time, they normally wind up freaking out later. They’ll tweet all the details of the meeting and share whatever snaps they put on their stories so the fan blogs can get a hold of them. Ginny’s not supposed to spend much time on social media herself, and right now she really does want to avoid the timelines. The speculation’s gotta be out of this world. Everyone saying stuff like, _did you see that throw? that’s the kind of stuff that ends careers._  Or stuff like _this is exactly why girls can’t be out there. She didn’t hit innings limit and she blew it._  Or even just little things like _so much for that no hitter_. 

At this point, even if the trends were all positive, if it’s tens of hundreds of tweets with #GetWellGinny or #43, it would be too much. Her throat would close up, and she’d nod around it, try to force whatever sob gets caught up in there, but it’s really not worth the trouble. Eliot will say something eventually. If Amelia ever comes back, then Amelia will help her figure everything out. And if Amelia doesn’t….

Ginny focuses back on her phone.

**From Ginny Baker to Cara the Beach Girl  
** // That’s cute

Amelia might not come back, but that doesn’t mean Ginny would be screwed. Ginny knows a lot more than she’s been given credit for, and Ginny can’t let someone else run her entire life. She should get to make mistakes. She made one today, and she’s fine! Kind of. She’s kind of fine, and she knows that next time they try to shut her down, she should just let them. Let them leave her on an almost no hitter rather than leave her on the ground with her whole arm on fire.

**From Cara the Beach Girl to Ginny Baker  
** // The girls want to be your best friend and the guys want your number  
// Guess I can’t tell them I don’t have it anymore

**From Ginny Baker to Cara the Beach Girl  
** // I’m trying real hard to keep my number for as long as I can so try not to give it out

Will should message her once he hears about the news. He might be pissed, and his pride’s definitely hurt, but she’s his baby sister. Her mom’s already messaged about flight information. She won’t be completely alone, and she’ll figure it out if she has to be.

**From Cara the Beach Girl to Ginny Baker  
** // Send it to everyone I know, got it. Unsoliticited dick picks coming in five  
// wAIT

Ginny groans.

**From Ginny Baker to Cara the Beach Girl  
** // gross

**From Cara the Beach Girl to Ginny Baker  
** // That might be the best joke I’ve ever made. Please tell me you laughed.

**From Ginny Baker to Cara the Beach Girl  
** // I groaned, but believe me I laughed on the inside

She even has a bit of a smile right now. Not a big one, but one that lifts up her eyelids and has her breath coming a little easier. It’s really fucking quiet in the hospital room. They brought her a charger so she could keep her music playing, and Ev already messaged Blip so he’d bring a speaker, but it’s still really freaking quiet. None of her playlists feel right. No good song for this moment she guesses. ‘Uptown Funk’ didn’t exactly work for her, so any other Bruno has to be disqualified. Everything sad sounds too sad, and everything happy feels forced. So it’s the sound of people moving outside her room to keep her company. And the little vibrate every time her phone goes off.

**From Cara the Beach Girl to Ginny Baker  
** // mm, not enough. You deserve a good laugh. I’ll just have to try harder

**From Ginny Baker to Cara the Beach Girl  
** // you know you don’t have to do that

Cara’d already done more for Ginny than she could have expected. Like, who risks their job to give another person a night off? Who takes a stranger into their car and their world for a night and then makes sure they’re safe and ready for the next day? It’s kind of amazing. Kind of exactly the type of person that Ginny wishes she could be. Like, beyond the baseball stuff, beyond the forced fame and the constant attention, beyond everything else she’s been taught, Ginny could be that type of person. Ginny could help everyone. She could use her platform to do more, to help out the little kids that keep hoping for her. It’s just that….

Ginny fights against that throat closing feeling again. It’s just, it’s everyone honestly, but it’s especially the girls that look like her, the ones with the brown eyes that don’t perfectly reflect the sunlight and braids with frizz all along the parts that they try to smooth over. The ones who have gaps in their front teeth and slightly ashy elbows who rub at them before they meet her so they can look their best. Ones that don’t want anything more than to know that she’s real and that what she’s doing means they might have a chance at whatever it is that they’re dreaming of doing too. Ones who retweet pictures of her with QUEEN and swear they’re going to be her for Halloween and who can’t quite find the words when they meet her so they look at her with eyes like murky pools and just say “hi,” and reach shaking hands out for a photo that Ginny can barely bring up a smile for. They want so much, and so many of them are fucking terrified of wanting this much, of having hope, and here she is, letting them all down. She pushed too hard and she full on fucking failed. What kind of hope is she now?

Her phone keeps buzzing, so she glances back down to a whole stream of messages. She kind of has to check back to see what she’d said last before going on.

**From Cara the Beach Girl to Ginny Baker  
** // Yeah I know. but I want to.  
// seriously dude, which hospital are you in?  
// I’m hella serious  
// you’re bringing out the bay in me. seriously, is it that bad of an idea to see me again?

Ginny rolls her eyes.

**From Ginny Baker to Cara the Beach Girl  
** // You don’t have anything better to do? No job you’re bailing on by being here?

The response is almost instant.

**From Cara the Beach Girl to Ginny Baker  
** // Off day today, scout’s honor  
// never a scout, but I respect their code

**From Ginny Baker to Cara the Beach Girl  
** // I don’t even know if they’d let you in, and my friend’s probably playing guard dog outside the room. She’d flip if I let someone else in but not her.

But Ginny sends Cara the hospital info anyway. A distraction wouldn’t be the worst thing. If Cara wants to make her laugh, then she’ll take it. She’ll take it, and she’ll try not to have another meltdown in front of the girl.

She leans back into her pillows. Yeah, no more meltdowns. Just a good time with someone who doesn’t want to talk about her future or what’s wrong with her. They can turn on some music or something. Maybe a show, there’s HBO on this flat screen in her room since they want their high profile patients to stay calm and complacent. HBO’s always got random movies. They could settle in and next thing Ginny’ll know, it’ll be a different time, and the doctors will already have a plan for how to fix her, and her friends won’t be so worried, and Mike — he’ll… probably still be hiding out somewhere trying to pretend everything isn’t totally awkward between them.

It doesn’t have to be. If they could push beyond that little (large) urge to give in to whatever this is between them, if they could just let it go and go back to before his eyes had practically glazed over at the bar — before their foreheads rubbed under shit lighting while an uber driver pretended not to see anything — then maybe everything else could be okay too. Maybe.

Ginny winds up dozing off for a while. Fades away into her thoughts of coming back stronger than ever and wakes up to voices outside her room. Overlapping voices, but definitely still familiar and high-pitched?

“Who even are you? This is definitely not okay. If you think you can just waltz in here in your little uniform and we won’t ask questions—“ that’s definitely Evelyn.

“Ask questions. Ask Ginny! She invited me.”

Ginny sits back up. Cara? She’s a little hazy on exactly what the other girl’s voice sounds like, but that’s probably right. She clears her own throat. Calls out, “Ev!”

The door bursts open. Evelyn, with her mama bear eyes, blocks Cara, who honestly is in her uniform — tie and all. Ginny can’t help the grin that pops up, and that seems to be enough to have Evelyn’s brows skyrocketing.

“Oh my God, you seriously invited her.” Evelyn looks from Ginny to Cara and back again. “Who is this? How come she can come over and I have to sit outside? I haven’t even begun to cause a scene yet, Ginny, but believe me, I can.” She has her hands in front of her with her fingers pinched like she’s holding the very thin thread of her patience.

Ginny laughs before she can help herself. “God, Ev, she’s the waitress from the Nike party.”

Ev’s brows literally cannot go higher on her face without disappearing into her hairline. “The _waitress_? The one who took you for a joy ride?” She shakes her head. She practically throws her head from one side to the other. “Oh, no, you two can’t be alone together. If I lost you—“

“You’re not going to lose me. Where would we go?” She means it rhetorically, but Ev looks straight out the window. Ginny rolls her eyes. “We’re on the third floor.”

“And you were at a party with hundreds of cameras on you. Somehow, still left!”

Cara waves a hand to bring everyone’s attention back to her. Her other’s hand got a Starbucks cup, which she holds pretty protectively, while batting her unassuming eyes at one of Ginny’s closest friends. She plays up her voice, definitely leans into her grin a little more than she necessarily needs to, but hey, she’s got to get around a guard dog to get in there.

Cara says, “I promise you that we’re not going anywhere. I think—“ she lowers her voice, not so low that Ginny can’t hear her, but low enough that it seems like she’s trying, “Ginny needs someone removed from all of this baseball stuff right now. No offense to you, or your husband, or anybody else — you all seem super from what I’ve read online, but maybe give us a little time? I mean, seriously, the windows in these places are always locked, and you’re right here. We couldn’t possibly slip past you.”

Evelyn still seems to doubt it. Her eyes drop from Cara’s face to the Starbucks cup. She points at it. “You get your water at Starbucks?”

Cara nods, instantly. Takes a big sip and relishes that relief it brings. “Best water in town. Can I go in now?”

Evelyn stares another second or two before stepping aside. “Fine. But if I hear anything out of the ordinary, I’m bursting in and calling security. She stays here until she’s better.”

Cara salutes, then walks on in. She pushes the door closed herself with a little wave to Evelyn, then wheels around with the biggest grimace that she can possibly hold on her face. Ginny cackles at it. Cara rushes to set down the cup and grabs the actual ice water cup that’s next to Ginny’s bed. Ginny uses her good arm to bring Cara’s cup close enough to settle the suspicions. Her nose hairs tingle. Like they just run and hide from the smell, so her laugh about doubles in size.

Ginny sputters out her question. “Are you okay?” 

Cara nods between gulps. “Yeah. That glug just burned and ripped its whole way through my body. There’s really no prep for shots through a straw.”

Ginny nearly tells her to get over here, affectionate words, almost possessive, like she has any stake or right to tell Cara where to be, like she even knows her enough to beckon her onto the bed. But she supposes that she doesn’t really have to say anything. Cara finishes the water and plops that cup right back where she got it from. Then Cara settles onto the edge of the bed and starts loosening up her tie.

“So I take it you didn’t get fired?”

Cara gets the tie off. “Yeah, no, I heard someone vouched for me going ‘above and beyond’ on my duties as a server. I don’t know, guess I have someone looking out for me.”

Ginny’s nose scrunches, and not for the first time, she’s thankful for the way her skin hides her flushes. “Weird.” Cara hums an agreement, and Ginny takes a moment to take her in.

Everyone else in her life is older than her at this point. There’s two other rookie pitchers at her age right now, but everyone else? The gap exists, clear as day. She’s a baby compared to some of them. Not that it matters. The difference between her mom and her dad was twelve years after all. Age matters a lot less the older you get and the more you go through. It’s still nice though to see someone that’s on that edge, where ‘Soulja Boy’ marked the beginning of high school and iPhones didn’t exist until it was time for the SATs.

Plus, Cara sinks into the pillows of this stiff hospital bed like she’s lived here for years, like it’s so easy to blow in and out of spaces that should be uncomfortable. She shakes out her hair with a tight grip so it doesn’t hit Ginny, but a few strands brush against her skin anyway. She kicks her shoes off without untying them and only then does she tilt her head to the side and give Ginny this look that so clearly asks, _What else you got?_

Ginny takes a sip from the vodka Starbucks cup. She winces at the burn and takes another. Recognizes, “This might not be good for the pain meds.”

Cara waves her off. “You can have, like, three drinks with most pain medications, so one more and you’re done.”

Ginny leans over to nudge her head against Cara’s. “Maybe you are a good babysitter.”

“The best. Only the cool ones slip you alcohol. Don’t tell your mom.” Cara throws a hand towards the door, and Ginny loses it all over again.

“Evelyn almost killed you.”

“She really did. It’s like I was trying to break into some rockstar’s hotel room or something. So weird.” Cara takes the cup and pops the lid. She lifts it to her lips. “See, I’m also learning from my mistakes. Teaching you too.” She sips it straight and barely bats an eye. “Vodka forever.”

Ginny clicks her tongue. “Eh, gonna have to disagree with you there.”

Cara’s so quick to bounce up. “Whoa, nope not how this works. I rescue you, you agree with me.”

“Savior complex much?”

“I was hoping more for like Stockholm Syndrome, but whatever works at this point.” Cara smiles after it, which doesn’t really help Ginny tell if she’s serious or not. She laughs too, slides the cup next to the empty one, and claps her now empty hands. “Really though, what’s the plan here? We’re not running obviously. You’ve got this nice little sling set up, but you can still smile so I’m guessing you haven’t shattered everything inside of you.”

“True.” Not physically at least.

Or any other way. That was dramatic. Ginny’s fine. A little sad, a little disappointed, a lot in pain, but she’s fine. She has to be.

_Buzz._

Her phone’s still facing up because of all the texts with Cara, so Ginny can see Mike’s name flash across the screen. Bold and center, buzzing for an excrutiating four seconds before Ginny hits the down volume button to mute it and flips it face down. Mike wouldn’t understand what she’s doing. He’s all charge. He spends so much of his time in physical therapy and working through his injuries because he faces them. But what’s so great about that? What’s so great about knowing for sure that there’s a cap on how long you get to call yourself an MLB player? The second Ginny knows what’s up, she knows whether she’s out for next year, or if she can come back. She knows that it’s months of therapy, a small surgery, and a hell of a lot of that hope she seems to be lacking for things to even begin to go back to normal. She’d rather take shots out the grande cup. She’d rather laugh and forget for a little bit that her whole life’s in shambles. No agent, no brother, no way of knowing if any of these other relationships are worth pursuing — she just needs a break for ten seconds.

Cara whistles low. “Now I really feel special.” She eyes the phone when Ginny lifts a brow. Says, “You’re ignoring everyone just for me and your pity party.”

Ginny balks. “It’s not a pity party. I’m recovering.”

“You’re holed up with a stranger.”

“What are you talking about? We spent a whole night together. I’ve got your number. I know your first name.”

“And not much else.” Cara ruffles her own hair again. “I meant to wait to get serious, but you know the people outside, Ginny. Like more than just their first names. I don’t get why you don’t want to be with them."

“I like you,” Ginny says, and neither of them really get the time to process exactly how she means it. “I just — look, all I know is that the last time everything in the world felt like it was way too much, it helped to have you there. Maybe I’m using you. Leeching off some of whatever magic you have stored up from not living a life like this.”

Cara doesn’t say anything for a second. She sits, and she nods, and she reaches for her phone in her pocket. 

Ginny doesn’t remember much from the latter part of their night together. She remembers sitting in the bathtub in Cara’s clothes, remembers fleeting reminders to get the address so she could get the dress back, and she remembers the sound of that phone against the empty tub. That thunk, then arms wrapping around her, and fucking sobbing onto someone she hadn’t even known more than a few hours before. Her hair kept dripping down onto the shirt, and her tears kept going in her mouth, and Cara held her even as Ginny wanted to just sink through and stay there for as long as she could. She hadn’t even thought about that video or that phone again until Amelia showed her the only copy of Ginny’s big breakdown.

Now Ginny stares at the phone. Like maybe it’s magic. Maybe it’s cursed, and the second she sees it, she’ll break all over again. Split like the bat and whatever else inside of her decided that today was the day to fall apart.

Cara tells her, “I work all the time. Not the fun way that you do where it’s super tough but you love it. I mean, I don’t hate it. Not all the time, but some days I wake up and wonder if eating’s actually worth it. If I should just tell my roommates that I’m done and tell my boss that I quit and just disappear to somewhere where I can start over like it’s a Nicholas Sparks book and I’m running away. And I don’t know what kind of magic you see when you look at me, but all I’ve got is whatever I’ve been storing away from every day I _don’t_ have to work. Every morning I get to sleep in and night I get to be in my bed instead of half-asleep at some party with people who don’t even bother to look at me when they talk to me. And you know what I do, when I’m at work?”

She shakes her head at herself. Ginny watches, breathes out, “What do you do?”

Cara laughs this watery, guttural laugh. “I fucking stalk you online. I follow your agent on Twitter. I see if there’s anything new posted on your insta, even though I know you’re not the one who runs it. I check the fan blogs and remember that it doesn’t matter whether you’re living the dream or just living because that’s what you do, everybody hates their life sometimes. Everybody wants to quit. Everybody wants to duck out and pretend that none of this matters, even when it’s the only thing that does.”

Ginny hangs on her words. Breath caught somewhere in her chest, eyes lost somewhere in that small part of Cara’s lips. Fleetingly, she wonders if everyone in her life has a speech writer. Not just Mike, or Noah, but even the recurring guest stars get ‘em. Is it too hopeful to want Cara to be recurring, to want her to stick around this time as if she doesn’t have a whole life to tend to?

Cara laughs again, but this one’s a little less pained. “Plus, you’re fucking hot so seeing your face gives me enough umph to power through the rest of the night.”

Oh, God, that rips a laugh right out of Ginny. Forces up everything in her chest and sends her head back hard enough that she hits it on the headboard. She winces, and Cara grabs her head to ease the pain even as she keeps laughing. Cara’s fingers knead along Ginny’s scalp, circling from the crown of her head down to her edges down to the base of her neck. Ginny shivers. Her breath moves a little slower then. Her heart a little faster. Cara has really nice eyelashes, like perfect movie fluttering ones that shade the space below her eyes before going up and staying there. Sometimes, when Ginny’s moving too fast and she needs to calm down, she reads random facts online. One fact said that if a person stares in your eyes for more than five seconds without blinking, they either want to fuck you or kill you. Ginny really, really wants this stare to mean the first one. She actually sputters a bit at how much of her wants it to be the first one.

“You’ve gotta stop—“ she licks her lips “—hitting on me. I might start to think you mean it.”

Cara shifts her hand so it’s her nails skating along Ginny’s neck. “Get started, Baker.”

Ginny’s brain might be short-circuiting. “I-uh-had my last start yesterday actually.”

Cara’s left cheek lifts higher than her right when she smiles. Faster too. “Cute.”

“The words or me?"

Cara (Cara, Cara, Cara) says, “Whichever is least likely to make you freak out.” That’s so close that Ginny can feel this girl’s breath on her lips and smell the stupid vodka she’d smuggled in.

And Ginny’s not freaking out, not right now at least. Later, she can freak out. She can panic while they tell her about her x-rays and she can find out if the majors will be welcoming her back. She can do so much later, but for now, she might just have to kiss the beach girl, the waitress, Cara. Someone who’s not trying to take her everywhere, or planning out her life, or so freaking complicated to be attracted to. Someone who she and Evelyn can gladly talk about later — details, vivid details, as many as she can share and find out when she’s also totally trapped in this bed.

“I don’t know if they’ll take me back,” Ginny breathes.

“Because of your arm?” 

Ginny shakes her head. Because of lips brushed quick and noses pushing lightly against flushing cheeks. Because a black bi (?) woman’s a little too much for most people to wrap their heads around. “They could hardly a woman. Amelia’s gonna have a heart attack."

“Good thing we’re already in a hospital, huh?” She waits until Ginny nods to swoop in for a kiss. Ginny’s not gonna lie; this sure beats waiting things out alone.

.

.

.


End file.
